These Characters are the property of the Estate of J. R. R Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story has been written for pleasure and no profit has or will be made from it.

This was the most unkindest cut of all;
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
Quite vanquished him.

William Shakespeare (1564–1616), Julius Caesar, act 3, sc. 2

Warning – This chapter contains torture and may distress sensitive readers. It was not easy to write as I think this part of the story is the darkest I have ever written.

"Hurry! It is cooling fast!" Devorin said impatiently. "Maybe we should let Lady Hanna try her methods of persuasion?"

"My arm is still weak after all the ill treatment I suffered." Faramir said, by way of excuse, taking care to avoid Aragorn's reproachful gaze. He could see that where his shoulder had been bared, the flesh was bruised and discoloured. Causing him further pain seemed cruel beyond measure." I have never branded an animal before," he added.

The Steward struggled to remain impassive as he battled with a tumult of emotions. How could he inflict such pain on anyone, never mind his King and dearly loved friend? Yet, to refuse would reveal his true intentions and condemn both Aragorn and himself to certain death. He had chosen this path and would have to follow it now to the end, however bitter.

"Maybe it would be better if I were to do it?" Fosco suggested, "I know you once supported the usurper so this must be hard for you, Lord Faramir." He moved towards him to take the brand from his hand.

"It needs applying for at least three seconds," Devorin informed them," You do it, Fosco, if we wait for Lord Faramir to decide whom he truly supports, we will be here a very long time. It was a mistake to invite him here!"

"You dare to question my honour, Lord Devorin?"Faramir retorted. In his heart, he tried to send a silent apology to his King, then swiftly, he raised the brand and brought it down on Aragorn's bare shoulder.

A stench of burning flesh combined with an agonised scream of pain from the King assailed his senses as he forced himself to count to three.

Fosco snatched the brand away and flung it back into the brazier. " I told you Lord Faramir was loyal to us, would you insult a valuable ally?" he demanded of Devorin.

"You have finally convinced me of your loyalty, Lord Faramir, though you should have branded his face!" Devorin sneered, "Why not let everyone see that the once proud King Elessar is now no more than one of my cattle!"

"Sign the paper you fool!" Fosco ordered, waving it under Aragorn's nose "Or at least put your seal on it! Or do you want us to choose where to brand you next?"

"Let's strip him now!" Hanna suggested gleefully.

The servant moved towards Aragorn and shook him. As he got no response, Devorin punched him viciously in the belly.

"You are wasting your time!" Fosco shrugged, "The weakling has fainted so there is no point in trying to persuade him further tonight. Leave his clothes until he is aware enough to feel the humiliation of losing them. We will seek our beds and try again tomorrow to beat some sense into this fool."

He led the way out of the cellar. Faramir was the last to leave. He stole a last glance at Aragorn before the torch was extinguished. The King lay senseless, his noble features contorted with agony .His shoulder was now disfigured with the cipher of Ringlo Vale branded on his flesh.

"Are you certain I cannot change your mind about the girl I offered you, Lord Faramir?" Devorin enquired," I am certain you would find her a most delightful companion to celebrate your joining us with!"

"No, thank you, not tonight. I would like time to try to think of a way to get Elessar to sign, as he is proving so stubborn. I had hoped my presence would suffice to persuade him." Faramir replied.

"Maybe after your deeds of tonight, he will change his mind," Devorin replied, " I am certain we will succeed tomorrow though, for no man could endure the pain we are going to inflict on him then!"

Hastily excusing himself and overcome by nausea, the Steward rushed to the privy where he swiftly lost his supper.

Still retching slightly, he made his way to his room and locked the door. Throwing himself on the bed, he wept, muffling his sobs in the pillow, so that none might hear.

During his years as a soldier, he had seen and done much that had sickened him, but this was far, far worse, as he had never harmed any, save in the heat of battle when it was a fight for survival and a question of either killing or being killed.

Harming an unarmed man was outside every known code of honour. It shocked him to discover that he was even capable of such a deed. Branding helpless victims was the behaviour of the minions of the Dark Lord not an honourable soldier. Yet, if he had refused, Aragorn's one hope of rescue would have been lost. He desperately prayed to the Valar to forgive the evil he had done in hope of achieving good.

He knew Aragorn well enough now not to fear a traitor's death at his hands, if by some miracle they both escaped from here. He expected no worse punishment than banishment for his cruel deed, as Aragorn was merciful and very compassionate, but whether he could ever forgive himself was a different matter entirely.

Aragorn's warning had been only too true. Tonight, he had destroyed his own soul. When he had agreed to play the traitor try to save his lord, he had expected it would be dangerous and known it would be unpleasant. However, to have to sink to such deeds of depravity as this was beyond what he could ever have imagined in his worse nightmares.

He was aware too now; of a terrible emptiness inside him and realised, that Aragorn had unsurprisingly severed the thought bond. He knew now what Arwen had meant about the sensation of having one's soul torn asunder.

He poured the icy water from the pitcher on his washstand into the bowl, then pulled off all his clothes and began to wash. He felt as if every inch of his body were covered with some nameless filth, but however hard he scrubbed, which he did until his flesh was raw, he felt no cleaner. Eventually, he gave up his hopeless task and dressed again in clean clothing.

The heartache was almost more than he could bear. How he wished he were at home with Eowyn beside him. He longed to feel her arms around him and benefit from her strength and practical common sense. Part of him envied her for not being Numenorean, for she could never feel the pain of a severed thought bond, though at the same time, she could never know its beauty and joy.

He forced himself to try and rest, trying to preserve his sanity by filling his mind with images of his beautiful wife although he dared not picture her with Elestelle, so closely did they both associate their daughter with the King. Then, would Eowyn ever want to set eyes on him again, after what he had become?

He turned his thoughts back to Aragorn. From what the treacherous lords had said, this was his last chance to think of a way to save him before they slowly tortured him to death.

Overwhelmed and exhausted, Faramir finally fell asleep.

When Aragorn regained consciousness, he found himself alone in the darkness; the silence broken only by the sound of his own laboured breathing.

His shoulder throbbed painfully and his ribs and belly felt bruised and painful. Sweat poured from his brow, making him suspect that he was becoming feverish as result of his infected wounds and growing weakness.

Total despair gripped him now that Faramir had willingly joined in torturing him, not only that but humiliating him by branding him like a farm animal.

How could a bond that was supposed to endure for a lifetime, be so heartlessly cast aside after a few short months? Especially as those of Numenorean lineage were noted for their loyalty and the enduring depth of love, they showed to their chosen friends. However, could he have been so misguided as to have loved Faramir so dearly and looked upon him as the son he had yearned for, for so long?

Yet, still he could not bring himself to either curse or hate his betrayer.

Tonight he had done something he would not have imagined he would ever have to do, broken a Thought Bond. Usually to do such a thing would destroy those who had shared it, but after such a betrayal, severing it would have little or no effect on Faramir.

He had broken the bond by the force of his will before his heart broke first, though maybe that would have been better, as there was nothing in store now but ever increasing pain followed by death. He would give back the Gift sooner than risk betraying his wife and child to the clutches of these monsters.

His thoughts turned to Arwen and his son and he then he could not hold back the tears. His loving, devoted and beautiful wife had given up everything for him and he had hoped in return, he could give her many years of happiness as she ruled at his side and they raised their children together. Yet after less than four years of marriage, he would leave her a widow and in dire peril from their enemies, if she did not fade first from grief.

He tried to reach out to her with his mind and tell her how much he loved her and to be brave and strong .He was so weak now, he could not reach her.

His body throbbed in agony. He had unwittingly placed his wife and child in grave danger, his best friend had betrayed him and his country was at the mercy of traitors. He had tried his utmost be a good King and this was his reward.

The door opened quietly and the now familiar form of Elbeth, tiptoed into the room. Setting down her candle, she hurried to his side.

He tried to blink back his tears, but it was too late and she was kneeling beside him wiping away his tears with the sash of the robe, she wore over her nightgown and kissing his brow.

Her innocent devotion made him weep all harder. Especially knowing as he did, that she was surely destined to be as much a victim as he was. Aware, he had not long left and not wishing her to see him in an even worse condition, he reached a decision.

"Why are you crying, Strider?" she asked, " Has someone hurt you? Let me kiss it better!"

"You already have, Elbeth," he assured her, "I am sad, as I will be leaving soon and shall not see you again."

TBC

A/N I have moved one paragraph from the previous chapter to this one as it seemed to fit better here.

A big thank you to all my reviewers for your greatly appreciated comments and the touching poem.

The Thought Bond requires a touch to the head and 'being on the same wavelength' to work.